Netflix's Moon Knight
by 88y53
Summary: "Mercenary, Marc Spector, died in Egypt, under the statue of the ancient moon deity, Khonshu." "This is what happened next . . ."
1. Pilot - The Man in the Moon

**FADE IN:**

 **TEXT** "Mercenary Marc Spector died in Egypt under the statue of the ancient moon deity, Khonshu."

"This is what happened next . . ."

 _[Cue opening credits]_

 **EPISODE CARD** "THE MAN IN THE MOON"

 _[End opening credits]_

 **INT. EGYPT – NIGHT – YEARS AGO**

The soft glow of torches illuminates an otherwise darkened room, panning down on the limp body of MARC SPECTOR, the sand around him drink in fresh blood as it gushes from open wounds beneath his war gear. Under his closed eyelids, his eyes dance feverishly while his body is still.

Meanwhile, a small ticking echoes in the darkness, growing louder with each strike.

THE VOICE OF KHONSHU: DO YOU ACCEPT?

 **INT. NEW YORK PENTHOUSE APARTMENT – BEDROOM - MORNING**

MARC's eyes snap open; the world around him is instantly swapped for silk drapes and the hum of New York traffic.

He sits in lotus position on a marble tile floor, the ticking originating from a metronome beside him. His arm reactively snaps and clamps his hand around the pendulum.

MARC wipes sweat from his brow and takes several deep breaths, trying to rip himself away from a clearly distressing memory.

The sudden ring of his cellphone breaks this moment of silence; the person calling him is his personal assistant/chauffer/old war buddy—Jean-Paul "Frenchie" Duchamp.

MARC (answering the phone): Yeah, Frenchie, I'm awake. Impeccable timing.

FRENCHIE (on the phone): It's what gets me the big bucks, _mon amie_.

MARC rolls his eyes.

MARC: Bring the car around. I'll be down in a few minutes.

FRENCHIE: Understood, _au revoir_.

MARC hangs up, rubs his eyes, gets up and starts getting dressed. Taking off his shirt, we see his torso covered in scars.

 **MONTAGE** MARC enters his walk-in closet and proceeds to get dressed to the 9s.

Getting a nice view of his apartment, the décor is rather … diverse; the layout itself is very modernist—open living room, kitchen island, muted monochrome color palette, etc.—decorated wall to ceiling with ancient weaponry, furniture, and antiques ranging from Egyptian Khopesh, Song dynasty vases to Georgian velvet Persian rugs and Victorian mahogany bookshelves brimming with material on such topics as basic criminology back to Egyptian mythology.

Also, all reflective surfaces are covered up or blacked-out.

Finishing off his attire, he organizes his last step—a full course of antidepressants, antianxiety, antipsychotics, bipolar medication, and tranquilizers for good measure. All prescribed to STEVEN GRANT.

Taking the elevator down to the lobby, MARC makes his way to a bleach-white limo driven by FRENCHIE.

 **INT. LIMO - DAYTIME**

FENCHIE rolls down the partition with a ticket in hand.

FRENCHIE: Your ticket, _monsieur_.

MARC: Merci.

MARC takes the ticket.

FRENCHIE: Your accent's atrocious as always, _mon amie_.

MARC: Yeah, yeah, just drive the car, Duchamp.

FRENCHIE: Exciting, _non_? _Madame_ Alraune has been looking forward this event for weeks.

MARC: Yep, she's worked hard at it.

FRENCHIE (con't): It was very _généreuse_ of you to help pay for it, Marc.

MARC: Frenchie…

FRENCHIE: Mm, _excusez moi_ , _monsieur GRANT_.

MARC nods, and looks out the tinted window.

MARC: Yep, out there, I'm Steven Grant . . . I'm Steven Grant.

 **INT. ART GALLERY – NEW YORK**

MARLENE Alraune stands in front of an abstract sculpture with a potential buyer.

The sculpture is a bust of a woman with several faces seemingly being pulled out of her original face.

MARLENE: Identity is a bridge between oneself and the outside world, but there's more to it than just a name alone. We all possess slightly different identities we present for different sorts of people—for our family members, for the co-workers that work beneath us and the co-workers that work above us, or even the innumerable random passers-by on the street. What makes this particular piece very special is its representation of the battle for one's own self-identification; the way one perceives oneself versus whom or what others may see, the person one wishes to be . . . and the person one is afraid of becoming.

The buyer contemplates her words before making his decision.

BUYER: . . . I'll take it.

MARLENE: You've made a very wise decision, sir.

They work out the formalities just in time for MARC (as STEVEN GRANT) to walk up to her.

STEVEN: Your silver tongue hasn't lost its polish, I see.

MARLENE: I'm helping people express themselves, Mr. _GRANT_.

STEVEN: Ooh, there was some bite behind that.

MARLENE: Mild teasing, really.

STEVEN: You know I've never before seen a woman so capable of talking her way out of a hanging.

There's something slightly different about MARC now—he sports a charming blasé attitude and his voice has gone up an octave.

MARLENE: Where's Frenchie?

STEVEN: JEAN-PAUL will be right with us. He's finding a place to park. Wish him luck.

MARLENE: . . . I'm happy to see you. I didn't think you'd show.

STEVEN: Oh, I'd never miss a chance to watch the master apply her craft. Speaking of which—

STEVEN grabs two glasses of Champagne from the tray of a passing waiter.

STEVEN (con't): I think I see a married couple with a lot of money and no idea what to do with it.

They clink their glasses and begin mingling.

MARC as STEVEN almost expertly mixes with the other guests; telling jokes, offering insightful observations and amusing anecdotes, never once failing to be a perfect gentleman. Though, he has minor problems when faced with the more abstract art pieces.

Later, MARLENE makes a toast.

MARLENE: I'd just like to take this opportunity to thank our generous donors who made this evening possible. I'm also thankful you accepted the invitations.

STEVEN (in the crowd): Just making sure you're spending my money wisely, Miss Alraune.

MARLENE: Well, in honor of spending your money wisely, I've commissioned this plaque to commemorate your names.

The plaque is adorned with several names, and Steven's name is among them.

MARLENE (con't): Thank you all for your support and generosity.

After the applause dies down, an older gentleman approaches STEVEN.

OLD MAN: A very lovely woman, your girlfriend?

STEVEN: Oh no, no, we're just business associates.

OLD MAN: From the way she was laughing at your quips, I'd suspect otherwise.

STEVEN: I try not to make those kinds of assumptions.

OLD MAN: A wise policy, especially in regards to women.

STEVEN clenches his jaw.

STEVEN: Can I help you with something, sir?

OLD MAN: As a matter of fact, you can. You seem to be the kind of man of refined taste, so I was wondering what you thought of this piece.

The OLD MAN guides STEVEN over to a painting of warriors fighting in a desert.

OLD MAN: This painting depicts the Celtic warriors that were employed by the Ptolemaic dynasty in Egypt. It's a departure from the more abstract art at this gallery, but there's just something really special about it.

STEVEN: Well … uh … the (ahem) technique the artist employed is certainly inspired.

OLD MAN: Oh yes, the frayed and frenzied lines contrast the stoic edges of its figures. The juxtaposition of saturated and de-saturated colors gives it this dream quality.

STEVEN: Hmm.

OLD MAN: You know, I've always found ancient war fascinating; these days the world is so small and quantified but back then, even well traveled mercenaries hardly knew what was over the horizon.

As the man continues to drone on, STEVEN is drawn further into the carnage that's depicted on the canvas.

OLD MAN (con't) Can you imagine that? Fighting and dying in a unknown world – in the sand and heat – so far removed from anything you recognized?

Eventually, the OLD MAN's words are drowned out completely as a deafening silence replaces the world around him. Deeper and deeper, STEVEN is enveloped into the painting.

Suddenly, STEVEN feels a hand clasp around his shoulder and he turns to see MARLENE and FRENCHIE.

MARLENE: Steven, 'you okay?

STEVEN tries to put on a brave face but inside he's in the grips of a panic attack. FRENCHIE and MARLENE try to reach STEVEN but their pleas our drowned out by a sensory overload. Words, sounds, and sights vanish and reappear in an instant as he frantically searches for something sturdy to hold onto.

Then, he spots a figure clad in white in the distance.

We see a brief flash of it but nothing concrete.

Only three words echo in MARC's head.

KONSHU: DO YOU ACCEPT?

That's the last straw.

MARC _has_ to leave.

Frantically pushing his way through the crowed, MARC continues to be disoriented, as if he's watching himself do this, while FRENCHIE and MARLENE chase after him.

MARLENE: STEVEN, what's wrong?

MARC: I have to—

FRENCHIE: _Mon amie_!

MARC: I'm sorry I—

MARC (in a thick Brooklyn accent) Leave me alone!

With that, MARC leaves the building.

 **INT. NEW YORK OFFICE BUILDING - NIGHT**

An older (about in early sixties) gentleman by the name of WILLIAM KNOWLES sits uneasy in an empty boardroom, nervously checking his watch. He has in his hand a manila envelope clutched tightly to his chest.

Anxious, he can only swivel his chair and look out the window at the midnight New York skyline.

Suddenly, a rather unassuming man walks into the room and sits opposite KNOWLES.

KNOWLES: Ah, thank you for meeting me on such short notice. I know you and yours are very busy these days.

THE MAN says nothing.

KNOWLES fidgets in his chair but tries to hide his nerves.

KNOWLES: (ahem), well, I don't know what your handlers told you, but this is about my "debt."

KNOWLES takes the envelope and slides it across the table to THE MAN.

KNOWLES (con't): Now, that is all the money that you "donated" to my mayoral campaign 4 years ago, plus interest. I believe that more than qualifies as a debt repaid, so I consider our "partnership" herby dissolved.

THE MAN is, again, silent.

KNOWLES rubs his hands together anxiously.

KNOWLES (con't): And that includes my son; whatever arrangement we had, it doesn't extend to my family or my son's campaign. He's going to win that election fair and square – no tricks, no bribes, and no coercion.

THE MAN is now simply refusing to respond, and makes KNOWLES feel like a coiled spring – tension straining to be released.

KNOWLES (con't): … You don't understand, ever since Midland Circle people have been talking— _worse_ , they've been _looking_.

THE MAN is unfazed.

KNOWLES (con't): The Hand can't survive anymore. That's why I _have_ to get out—I _am_ out. And if you were smart, _you'd_ get out too.

THE MAN sets a briefcase on the table and opens it. He takes out a newspaper and slides it across to KNOWLES. There is a picture of CARSON (KNOWLES' thirty-year-old son) headline reads "Mayoral candidate, CARSON KNOWLES, and wife pitch in."

KNOWLES (con't): … I don't-

THE MAN stands up and takes something else out of the briefcase – pictures.

THE MAN slaps down one of the pictures … it's of CARSON with two beautiful women taken from some kind of vantage point through a window. Then another picture is placed next to it, this one showing CARSON and the women sharing a bottle of Champaign. The third picture is of the women taking off CARSON's shirt. Then-

KNOWLES (con't): STOP!

KNOWLES huffs and shakes his head as THE MAN takes back the pictures.

KNOWLES (con't): The Hand is _dead_. You can't do this anymore!

THE MAN packs up his things and slides back KNOWLES' money.

THE MAN: We're not the Hand.

THE MAN motions to leave the room.

THE MAN (con't): Not anymore.

 _[END OF ACT 1]_

 _[ACT 2]_

 **INT. BROOKLYN APARTMENT - MORNING**

In a dingy, one-room apartment, an iphone alarm goes off on a nightstand next to a cot. The man – naked, save for boxer shorts – lazily paws at the phone and silences it. With a groan, the man rises and walks to his bathroom mirror.

After brushing his teeth, we see his reflection … it's MARC.

After staring at the reflection for a moment, he feels that something's missing. Searching briefly, he finds it – a fake mustache, which he places on his upper-lip.

Done.

As he gets dressed (which includes a driving cap), he rubs his temples, grabs some aspirin and takes them with a beer.

Now dressed, the man grabs his wallet and replaces the STEVEN GRANT ID with the ID of JAKE LOCKLEY.

Reaching the bottom floor, he passes the office of the landlady, MAVIS.

JAKE (thick Brooklyn accent): I'll have 'da rent by the end of the day, MAVIS.

MAVIS takes a drag off her cigarette without looking up from her newspaper.

MAVIS: Mmhm, I've heard that before, handsome.

JAKE: Oh, com'on, bueteeful, it's me ya' tawkin' 'bout 'ere.

 **EXT. NEW YORK STREET – DAY**

JAKE gets in his car, takes out his phone, activates his Uber app, and gets to work.

 **MONTAGE** : MARC as JAKE drives around NY, giving people rides and making money.

After the montage, JAKE decides to get some lunch, so he parks his car and heads for his favorite diner, _The Other Place_.

Along the way, he passes a homeless drunk – CRAWLEY - rambling about nonsense.

CRAWLEY (slurred): The hand – the amaranthine hand of Machiavellian manipulation was relieved of its body, my boy, but the surreptitious attendants of avaricious desire now stands vivified. Determined to prolong their copious consumption and consolidation of unscrupulous influence and predominance.

JAKE: … Did you eat a thesaurus today, old man?

CRAWLEY grabs JAKEs sleeve.

CRAWLEY (con't): A committee! A committee of calamitous intent. They mustn't be allowed to go on!

JAKE reaches into in pocket and takes out some money.

JAKE: Here ya' go buddy, that's a twenty.

As JAKE walks into the diner, CRAWLEY goes on.

CRAWLEY: Lunar knights, take up arms against our clandestine foe. You are our champion as much as the moon's.

 **INT. THE OTHER PLACE – MID-DAY**

Inside, GINA LANDERS works the counter as her two sons – RICKY and RAY – work the tables.

GINA recognizes JAKE immediately.

GINA: How's it going LOCKLEY?

JAKE: Going fine, GINA. How're the kids?

GINA: I don't know, how _are_ my kids?

RICKY/RAY: Fine/Good.

GINA: That's what I thought.

JAKE: Y'know you got a crazy guy outside?

GINA: That's CRAWLEY he's harmless. You want the usual, honey?

JAKE: Oh, ya' know me so well, GINA.

GINA: You come here often enough.

JAKE: Maybe it's a hint?

GINA: Maybe you're optimistic.

JAKE: Haha.

As JAKE is presented with his meal, a small bunch of burly white construction workers walk in.

The men all cram into a booth not-too-far-away from JAKE, and immediately start showing their true colors.

MAN #1: Hey, boy! Boy! Can we get some service 'round here?

RAY walks over.

RAY: Can I help you?

The men instantly take on a disapproving attitude.

MAN #1: Yeah, what're specials?

RAY: Well, our specials today include a chicken sandwich with—

MAN #2: Chicken? That makes sense, am I right boys?

The men find this hilarious.

RAY keeps his composure, while GINA and JAKE exchange glances and look to RICKY, who clearly doesn't like where this is going.

RAY: Will there be anything else?

MAN #1: Yeah, who's the manager or owner, whoever of this place?

RAY: That'd be her.

RAY points to GINA who smiles and waves.

The MAN huffs dismissively.

MAN #1: I'll have some coffee, black.

RAY: Great, for the rest of you? Undecided?

The men give the faintest of acknowledgement.

RAY: All right, I'll be right back with that black coffee.

MAN #1: I just wanted coffee.

RAY is stopped mid-stride by that comment, but just shakes it off and keeps walking.

The men sit at their table in silence.

MAN #3: Why don't we go to another diner?

MAN #2: I don't feel like letting _them_ dictate where I can and can't eat.

MAN #1: She's the owner. _She's_ the owner. This whole country's gone to shit.

MAN #2: You're tellin' me, this nation used to stand for sumtin', and if it were up to us, it still would!

As the men continue, JAKE (and the other people in the diner) just tries to ignore them. Their racist and sexist remarks get more despicable with each exchange between each other, while JAKE's patience steady withers, until he can't take anymore.

As JAKE stands up to say something, RICKY beats him to it.

RICKY: You got a problem with my mom, Old Man River?

The men look at RICKY with fierce eyes, but the boy remains undaunted.

MAN #1: We just don't think it's very proper.

RICKEY: What's "not proper"? A single mom trying to take care of her kids? Or that she own a business?

MAN #1 rises from his seat and looms over RICKY.

MAN #1: How 'bout you tell me who're daddy is, boy?

RICKY: Don't call me "boy"!

MAN #1: _I_ know who _my_ father is, do you?

GINA comes around the counter and to defuse the situation.

GINA: RICKY, that's enough. Sir, I think it'd best if you and your friends left.

MAN #1: You can't tell us what to do!

RICKY: WHY DON'T YOU TELL US WHY?

RAY walks up – coffee in hand – and tries to help as well.

RAY: Sir, as legal owner of this establishment, my mother has full right to refuse service to whomever she chooses.

In spiteful anger, the man smacks the coffee out of RAY's hands and onto the floor. The MAN's friends actually cheer him on. GINA has been pushed to the limit of politeness and points her finger in his face.

GINA: That's it! You need to leave!

The MAN grabs GINA's arm by the wrist and yanks it to the side.

RICKY: LET HER GO!

RICKY jumps the man and tries to free GINA.

JAKE then comes up from behind and tries to put the man into a hold.

JAKE: You heard 'im, _let her go_!

In the scuffle, the man's elbow connects on the bridge of JAKE's nose and breaks it.

JAKE doubles over in pain.

JAKE: Aah, ta' sonovabish' broge 'by nobes.

RAY sees an opening.

RAY: All right, you people need to leave or I'm calling the police.

MAN #2: Over what?

RAY points to JAKE.

RAY: Assaulting this man!

The MEN leave, rather accepting defeat than face an arrest for assaulting a _white_ man.

RAY bundles up some napkins for JAKE's nose, as they watch the racists leave. RAY notices something odd with JAKE – he's hyperventilating.

RAY: JAKE? Are you all right?

JAKE stares at MAN #1 with a mix of panic and rage. Watching him, JAKE spots something behind the man across the street.

Through the windows of the diner, JAKE sees a white-clad figure (whose face we don't see) obscured in a strange haze, and JAKE hears the all-important question …

KONSHU: DO YOU ACCEPT?

JAKE panics. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a wad of bills and shoves them into GINA's hands.

JAKE: Here.

GINA: Wha- JAKE? Where you going?

JAKE pushes open the door and runs out.

GINA: JAKE!

 **INT. HOSPITAL - DOCTOR'S ROOM**

MARC blinks his eyes and looks around anxiously.

DOCTOR: -damage wasn't too serious, Mr. Grant. I'll prescribe you some painkillers, but just sleep with your head in ab elevated position and try not to blow your nose.

The doctor rips off the prescription and hands it to MARC.

DOCTOR (con't): It should heal up good as new.

MARC looks at the note suspiciously and rubs the bandage on his nose. After some hesitance, he takes the note.

MARC: Thanks, doctor.

 **INT. HOSPITAL HALL**

Leaving the doctor's office, MARC takes out his phone and activates his facecam. Seeing for himself, he _does_ have a bandage for a broken nose he doesn't remember getting. All of this causes MARC to bend over in pain from a sudden severe migraine.

 **INT. MARC'S APARTMENT – NIGHT**

FRENCHIE and MARLENE sit with MARC in his living room.

FRENCHIE: The headaches are getting worse, aren't they?

MARC: … Yeah, and the blackouts are getting worse, too.

MARLENE: Have you been taking your pills?

MARC: _Yes_ , I've been taking my pills, at the exact same time, everyday. They're _not_ helping.

MARLENE turns to FRENCHIE.

MARLENE: Maybe he should see a new doctor, maybe—

MARC: That's your answer to everything, isn't it?

FRENCHIE: MARC, someone out there knows how to help you, you just need to be patient—

MARC: Well I have been patient, FRENCHIE! I've been patient, understanding, open-minded, reasonable, and what do I have to show for it? A bunch of antipsychotics that _don't work_!

MARLENE: MARC, another therapist might help.

MARC: I've seen about a dozen therapists already, MARLENE! First it was Bipolar Disorder, then it was BPD, then it was schizophrenia, then it was PTSD, then it was _this_ or then it was _that_ and then right back to bipolar and then everybody changes back again!

MARC gets out of his chair and leans against his living room window. MARLENE and FRENCHIE sit in silence, with the bitter taste of failure in their mouths.

FRENCHIE: MARC, _mon amie_ , we want to help you.

MARC: Nobody can help me.

FRENCHIE: That's not true—

MARC (con't): I'm cursed.

MARLENE facepalms while FRENCHIE just shakes his head.

MARC (con't): It all could've been simpler, all I would've had to do was say "no".

MARLENE: MARC … he's not real.

MARC finally turns away from the window to argue with his friends face-to-face.

MARC: He _is_ real, MARLENE! I could feel the life leaving me, and I given a choice, and I should've said "no".

FRENCHIE: He's an Egyptian fairy-tale, MARC! He's all in your head! KONSHU isn't real!

MARC: He _is real_ , and he's not going away! You guys don't get it, I'm not MARC SPECTOR anymore!

MARLENE: Is that why you have all the mirrors blacked out?

MARLENE gets off the sofa, walks over to one of the covered mirrors on the wall, rips off the sheet covering it, unhooks it off the wall, and charges towards MARC with the mirror in hand.

MARLENE holds the mirror in MARC's face.

MARLENE: Who are you? If you're not MARC SPECTOR, then who are you?!

FRENCHIE: MARLENE—

MARLENE: Who are you?!

MARC frantically avoids the mirror as if his life depends on it. The stress of the argument causes flashbacks to when he was lying in the Egyptian sand, bleeding to death. Like a guitar string coiled too tightly, MARC's hold on himself is pulled to its limit. Suddenly, the MAN IN WHITE appears in the background.

KONSHU: DO YOU ACCEPT?

Snap.

MARLENE: Who are you?!

MARC: I DON'T KNOW!

MARC practically punches the mirror out of her hands, shattering the glass.

FRENCHIE: MARC, you're bleeding.

MARC looks at his hand with an almost alien indifference to his pain. Brushing MARLENE out of his way, MARC heads to the bathroom to get a roll of gauze.

Exiting the bathroom, MARC bandages his hand, pockets the roll, and grabs a jacket.

MARLENE: MARC, wait.

MARC: Leave me alone.

MARC's voice is detached and guttural.

MARLENE: MARC, I'm sorry—

MARC snaps at MARLENE with a veracity of a rabid dog.

MARC: LEAVE ME ALONE!

MARC slams the door behind him.

[ _END OF ACT 2_ ]

[ _ACT 3_ ]

 **INT. NEW YORK POLICE STATION - NIGHT**

Officer RYAN TRENT stands in a descending elevator, watching the level numbers drop. In his hand, he holds a file-folder, with one of the pages sticking out the top: "transfer".

Exiting the elevator, he walks down a dimly light hallway to the office of DETECTIVE FLINT.

 **INT. FLINT'S OFFICE**

Inside, TRENT finds DETECTIVE FLINT in what can only be described as Fox Mulder's closet: stacks of filefolders bound by rubberbands surround FLINT's desk, miscellaneous papers litter the floor, and corkboards pinned by cut-out newspapers and strings cover the walls.

The detective stands to great the young officer.

TRENT: Detective?

FLINT: Ah, you must be officer Trent.

TRENT: Yes, sir, I just got my transfer papers and I-

FLINT: Yeah, yeah, kid. Sit.

FLINT motions to the seat opposite his desk, which TRENT grudgingly uses as FLINT fishes something out of his desk.

TRENT: I'm not a dog.

FLINT: Good boy.

TRENT shifts angrily in his chair. FLINT opens a folder on his desk.

TRENT: Sir, could we pleas-

FLINT: "TRENT, RYAN. Detective - 1st precinct. Graduated 45th in the New York Police Academy. Two misdemeanor arrests. No major arrests" … Says here you were there during the 2012 Invasion.

TRENT: I was, sir.

FLINT: You were a beat-cop, right?

TRENT: That's correct.

FLINT: Did you see them?

TRENT: Sir?

FLINT: "Them" - The aliens; did you see any action?

TRENT: No, sir. Though, not many of us did, sir.

FLINT: No … we didn't, did we?

FLINT closes TRENT's file and flicks it away.

FLINT: Officer TRENT - (ahem) – a few years ago, the craziest thing in the world was a billionaire with a fancy suit. Then, a hole in the sky opened up and _aliens_ started falling out of it. And, after that, we all just kinda hoped things would go back to normal, but it didn't, did it?

TRENT: No, sir.

FLINT: This is an undiscovered country again, TRENT, and there a lot of "here be dragons" signs being put up.

TRENT: Like the Devil of Hell's Kitchen?

FLINT: Yeah… Have you heard about me, TRENT? What do you know about me?

TRENT: I know we're not supposed to talk about you, sir.

FLINT: Hmph, yeah.

FLINT rummages through a few old stacks and pulls out a piece of crumpled paper.

FLINT: _That_ is the first police report of the Devil's attacks.

TRENT: No shit.

FLINT: Back then; he just wore a black mask and t-shirt. And over here - somewhere – I got a report of a British guy who made someone give him his watch just by asking for it. _And_ over _there_ , I got a report of some guy who swings around Queens in a garish outfit.

TRENT: Why are you telling me this, sir?

FLINT: Because, even though people called me crazy, I decided to investigate these kinds of cases, and, sure enough, they were real. So, the boys and girls upstairs have decided to indulge me. TRENT …

FLINT gets up, walks to the other side of his desk and rests a leg on a corner next to TRENT.

FLINT: I want to put together a unit that investigates these kinds of cases, and I want you to be part of it, if you want.

TRENT looks at the Daredevil report.

FLINT (con't): This isn't going to be glamorous, and this probably won't go anywhere, but somebody's got ta do it. You feelin' up for this?

After a moment of consideration, TRENT agrees.

TRENT: I think I am, sir.

FLINT: Perfect.

FLINT taps the side of his open hand on TRENTs shoulder as a mock knighting.

FLINT: Congrats, officer TRENT, welcome to the Freak-Bait Unit.

 **EXT. NEW YORK ALLEYWAY – NIGHT**

MARK is hyperventilating as he doubles over in the grip of a splitting migraine, worse than anything he's had before. Adding to this, he begins to have flashbacks to his time in Egypt and the voice of KONSHU continues to harass him.

KONSHU: DO YOU ACCEPT?

KONSHU's words are like thunder, which causes his migraine _and_ his flashbacks to get even worse, and he actually vomits from the pain.

 **INT. THE OTHER PLACE - NIGHT**

GINA and her kids in the process of closing up _The Other Place_ for the night, when RICKY spots something across the street – a man in a ski mask.

RICKY brings this to the attention of his mother and brother who are just as shocked as he is.

The family lock eyes with the masked man who is staring at _them_. It couldn't be more obvious that he staring at _them_.

RAY leans over to his mother.

RAY: Mom, get out your phone and dial 9-1, and if things start going wrong, dial 1 again.

RAY step outside, with RICKY behind him.

RAY: Sir? I'm afraid that we're closed for the night.

RICKY: That means take a hike, buddy!

The man does nothing.

Other men, who are also wearing ski mask, then join him and start marching towards the restaurant.

GINA jumps over the counter, drags her sons inside, locks the door, and starts waving her phone around.

GINA: I just called the cops! Get out of here!

The leader take out an alcohol bottle with a rag stuffed inside it, and one of his friends' lights it with a lighter.

GINA takes her kids and orders them to run.

GINA: The back-door; get the back-door, _right now!_

The man throws the Molotov cocktail through the window and it explodes.

Over the roar of the flame, the men hoot and holler, as the start smashing windows to feed the fire.

LEADER: GO BACK TO AFRICA!

 **EXT. NY ALLEYWAY**

MARK exits the alley and he sees several masked men committing arson.

MARK was in the alleyway next to _The Other Place_.

Hearing the screams of terror inside and the evil laughter of the men causes a sudden change in MARK.

He begins to clench his wounded fist so tightly that it draws blood.

Suddenly, all the sound in the world vanishes, and only one question manages to cut through the silence:

KONSHU: DO YOU ACCEPT?

It begins.

MARK reaches into his pocket and takes out the roll of bandages and begins wrapping it around his face, as pure fury boils behind his eyes.

The men collect themselves and prepare to run, only to be stopped by a punch to the face no one say coming.

The punched man falls to the ground instantly, TKO'd.

MARK – in a posture we've never seen before - stands over him and faces the men, and speaks to them in a voice like a hacksaw cutting through bone.

"MARK": The weed of crime bears bitter fruit.

With a look that could kill, he stares down the men, and the fight begins.

Cutting between the fight, we finally see the full flashback and what happened in that Egyptian tomb.

Every savage blow unlocks a new bit.

Years ago, MARK SPECTOR dies at the feet of an Egyptian statue of KONSHU, only he doesn't see a white light at the end of a tunnel. Instead, MARK finds himself in a black void, with only a small spotlight above him.

FLASHBACK!MARK: Where am I? Am I dead?

He gets an answer.

KONSHU: YOU STAND ON THE PRECIPICE OF DEATH, ONE FOOT IN BOTH WORLDS. THE TIME DRAWS NEAR, INTERLOPER, CHOOSE OR PERISH.

FB!MARK: "Choose"?

KONSHU: I HAVE SEEN THE CORRUPTION OF THIS WORLD, EVIL'S WEED ENTWINES AND CHOKES THE LIFE OUT OF EVEN THE MOST PROSPEROUS GARDEN. THERE MUST BE A CHAMPION, A WATCHER OF THE NIGHT TRAVELERS. FOR THIS TASK, I HAVE CHOSEN YOU.

FB!MARK: Me?

KONSHU: I CAN SAVE YOU, MARK SPECTOR, BUT IN RETURN, YOU MUST BE MY AVATAR; YOUR NEXT LIFE WILL BE IN SERVICE TO _MY WILL_ , AND WHEN THE MOON IS AT IT'S FULLEST, NO ARMY IN THIS WORLD COULD STOP YOU . . . DO YOU ACCEPT?

Back to the present, MARK has finished savagely beating in the face of the last of the men. Their masks are off, revealing them to be the racists from before.

GINA and her kids have managed to escape the fire and see all the men MARK has beaten into unconsciousness.

MARK collapses from exhaustion and rips off his bandage-mask.

The family runs to help him and is shocked to find JAKE covered in other people's blood.

GINA: Oh my God, is that JAKE?

RAY leans over him and tries to wake him up.

RAY: JAKE, are you okay? Come on, say something.

Meanwhile, a MAN IN WHITE stand over MARK – it's KONSHU, and we finally see his face … _he has a giant fucking bird skull for a head_. He asks his question one more time, and we finally hear MARK's answer:

KONSHU: DO YOU ACCEPT?

MARK: . . . _Yes_.

 **CUT TO BLACK**

 _[End of Act 3]_

 _[End of episode]_


	2. I Am So You Are

**INT. CONVEANCE STORE – NIGHT**

A young woman sweeps the linoleum tiles of her liquor-store as she begins to close up shop. Performing one more go-around the store, making sure all the merchandise on display perfectly.

Suddenly, MARC SPECTOR bursts through the door, his clothes bloody and torn.

STORE OWNER: Hey, we're closed!

She's immediately taken aback by his appearance. MARC, for his part, is dazed and disoriented.

STORE OWNER: Wow, shit.

MARC: Bathroom?

STORE OWNER: Listen, buddy, you need to leave.

MARC brushes past her and locks himself in the restroom.

As the woman bangs on the door, MARC rinses the blood off his knuckles and face.

Splashing himself once more, MARC looks deeply into his own eyes as his panting slows and steadies.

MARC: … Yes.

 _[Cue opening credits]_

 **EPISODE CARD** "I AM SO YOU ARE"

 _[End opening credits]_

 **EXT. NEW YORK STREETS – EARLY MORNING**

WILLAIM KNOWLES sits in his parked car gripping the steering wheel. He looks tired and agitated. Finally working up his nerve, he exits the car and enters a fancy restaurant.

 **INT. RESTAURANT.**

CARSON KNOWLES sits at a table next to his wife opposite two other socialites – a black man and a woman.

CARSON: So, I'm watching the line sink, and my mother turns to me and simply says, "let's just say we set them free."

The people laugh at whatever amusing anecdote he just described as his father locates the table.

WILLIAM: Uh, CARSON, -

CARSON: Ah, dad, this is a surprise.

WILLIAM: Yes, I –

CARSON: Hm, I'm sorry, dad, this Finance Director, Robert Channings, and this City Attorney, Linda Vance.

WILLAIM awkwardly greets them.

WILLIAM: Yes, how do you do? _CARSON_ , I was wondering if I could speak to you privately?

CARSON … Now?

WILLIAM: I'm afraid so.

CARSON's wife, FRAN, speaks up.

FRAN: WILLIAM, perhaps this could wait another 5 minutes?

WILLIAM: Unfortunately, no. It's urgent.

CARSON: Well, I'm sure that my darling wife is more than capable of entertaining you two until I get back. If you're still considering dessert I recommend the Buche de Noel, it's _sublime_.

CARSON kisses his wife on the cheek and departs with his father.

 **EXT. BACK ALLEY - DAY**

CARSON: This better be good, dad, it's not exactly polite to leave guest in the middle of a meal.

WILLIAM: CARSON, I – I can remember what it was like to be a young politician; the late nights, the early mornings, the stress, smiling for cameras, promising _this_ and _that_ to a contradictory public-

CARSON: Goodness gracious, what's the problem, dad?

WILLIAM: … _Temptation_ , is an unfortunate part of marriage, and goodness knows I've had less the stellar moments of my own-

CARSON: Yeah, I'm going to go back inside, let me know you want to start making sense.

CARSON turns to walk back inside.

WILLIAM: Boy, they have pictures of what you did!

That stops CARSON dead in his tracks, he knows exactly what his father is talking about, and turns back.

WILLIAM (con't): I've seen them, more than I wanted to see-

CARSON: Who has them?

WILLIAM: It doesn't matter.

CARSON: What do you _mean, "it doesn't matter"?_

WILLIAM: Calm down, boy. I mean that the damage is done, there's nothing that we can do.

CARSON: Well, what do they want? Money?

WILLIAM: I'll handle it, boy, but you need to promise me to not do something this _stupid_ again. Does FRAN know?

CARSON: Of course she knows.

This takes WILLIAM off guard.

WILLIAM: I –wha – How does she know?

CARSON: I asked and she said it was okay.

WILLIAM shakes his head.

WILLIAM: _Regardless_ , you can't give them any more leverage like this.

CARSON: Who's "them"?

WILLIAM: Trust me, boy, the less you know, the better. I'll handle this, just – promise me you won't do anything stupid.

CARSON: Sure, sure, of course, I mean, I love this city and I'll do anything I can to help it.

WILLIAM: I know, I know, boy. Well, get back to it; I'm sorry I interrupted.

Father and son share a hug before departing.

WILLAIM gets back into his car and sighs, once again gripping the stirring wheel. He reaches over and opens the glove compartment, and fishes out a hidden burner phone.

Flipping it open, he looks at the one and only contact: simply titled, "Q".

 **INT. STEVEN GRANT'S APARTMENT - DAY**

MARLENE is slumped on the couch with the TV on, still wearing the clothes she had on the night before. She's suddenly woken by a knock at the door.

Jumping up, she rushes over and opens it … only to find FRENCHIE.

MARLENE: Oh, JEAN-PAUL.

FRENCHIE: MARC didn't return?

MARLENE: … No. No he didn't.

FRENCHIE: Can I come in?

MALENE: Hold on, -

MARLENE turns to the empty apartment.

MARLENE (con't): MARC, FRENCHIE WANTS IN, THAT'S OKAY, RIGHT?!

FRENCHIE rolls his eyes and enters.

FRENCHIE: Have you been here all night?

MARLENE: Yeah, and I've tried calling him for hours, but he never answered.

FRENCHIE picks up MARC's cellphone from a near-by table.

FRENCHIE: Could _this_ be why?

MARLENE: That would explain a lot.

Both MARLENE and FRENCHIE sit down, opposite each other, in silence.

FRENCHIE: … You're getting that knot – that knot between your eyebrows; that's never a good sign.

MARLENE: Is it so wrong for me to worry about him, JEAN-PAUL? I mean I hoped that after L.A., things would be different; that a _he_ would be different. I've tried to be patient, but everything just seems to have gotten worse.

FRENCHIE: … MARC's my friend; he saved my life more times than I care to remember – and yours – and we don't get to choose whom we owe debts to. MARALENE, he _needs_ help, and right now, we're the only friends he's got.

MARLENE reaches out and grips her hand around FRENCHIE'S.

MARLENE: You're a pretty good friend, JEAN-PAUL.

FRENCHIE: I'm a good chauffer.

They share a chuckle for a moment, before returning to a silent vigil, holding each other's hand.

 **INT. JAKE LOCKLEY'S APARTMENT - DAY**

A half-dressed MARC is woken by a fury of knocking upon the apartment door, finding he's lying on JAKE LOCKLEY's cot.

Getting up, he winces in pain at the bruises he received from last night.

Fumbling around the floor for some appropriate clothing, he picks up what he quickly realizes are a woman's panties, which he throws away in shock.

The knocking continues, louder than before.

MARC: Okay, okay, I hear you. I'm almost there.

MARC opens the door and discovers the knocker was GENA LANDERS.

MARC: Uhh, … Hi.

GENA: We need to talk.

 _(End of Act 1)_

 _(Act 2)_

 **EXT. NEW YORK PARK – DAY**

MARC, GENA and her sons RAY and RICKY, as they try to make sense of the situation they found themselves in.

RICKY: Wait, so your name is STEVEN GRANT?

MARC: Yeah, I'm sorry for the confusion. I have a- a condition.

GENA: What kind of condition?

MARC: I- your guess is as good as mine; I see therapists but they all say different things. I think I might have schizophrenia … among other things.

RAY: Do you remember what you did last night?

MARC … Vaguely.

RICKY: Oh, it was insane-

RICKY takes out his phone and shows MARC a recording he took.

RICKY (con't): I got some of it on my phone.

MARC watches the footage and is taken aback by what he sees.

 **INT. NEW YORK POLICE STATION – DET. FLINT'S OFFICE – DAY**

Officer TRENT enters and finds FLINT.

TRENT: You wanted to see me, sir?

FLINT: Y'know TRENT, this day started out pretty well for me.

TRENT: That's nice-

FLINT (con't): Had a pretty good dream, woke up refreshed, not a lot of traffic, the lunchroom had some of the doughnuts I like, and so I sat down with a nice cup of coffee and y'know what I had to do next, TRENT?

TRENT: Can't imagine.

FLINT (con't): I had to get up off my adequately shaped ass and drive over to a hospital at the far end of town, and interview a bunch of arsonists.

TRENT: Why?

FLINT turns his computer monitor and plays street footage of the night before.

FLINT: Last night, a group of construction workers threw a Molotov cocktail into a black woman's diner. Then this happened…

It shows a man in white beating the arsonists half to death.

TRENT: Damn.

FLINT: That's not the best part, according to the people this dude hospitalized; he wore a "mask made of bandages."

TRENT: So, what, one of those Devil-fanboys?

FLINT: Na, they usually ware black, and this guy is way too good to be a groupie.

We see the fight in all its brutal glory – "MARC" takes on the racists with nothing but his fist, and his enemies can barely keep up.

TRENT: Any idea who this guy is?

FLINT: Nope, he was gone by the time patrol showed up. Oh, watch this…

One of the racists takes out an industrial flashlight and swings it into MARC's head. The swing connects and the flashlight bounces off of its target; MARC snap-turns and dispatches the man as if nothing happened.

FLINT: Ya' see that?

TRENT: Wow.

FLINT: And according to the doctors, this guy was no slouch; the guy he TKO'd in the beginning - they thought he was hit by a sledgehammer.

TRENT: Could be drugs. Steroids? PCP? Can't feel the attacks, probably breaking every bone in his hand.

FLINT: Maybe.

TRENT bristles at that remark

TRENT: Sir, with all due respect, I think you're giving this guy too much credit.

FLINT: Am I?

TRENT: In my opinion, this is a waste of time. We've never even seen this guy before – this video should be on YouTube, not a police office.

FLINT: Do you not like masks, TRENT?

TRENT shifts awkwardly.

TRENT: I don't like how people put them on pedestals.

FLINT: I agree, but, pedestal or not, don't you think we should keep our ears to the ground?

TRENT: I suppose, sir.

TRENT stares contemptuously into the security feed as "MARC" finishes off the arsonists.

 **EXT. NEW YORK PARK**

Back to MARC who hands back the phone to RICKY after similarly staring at the video.

GENA: You really don't remember that, huh?

MARC: Not … really. I have fragments, but they're like a dream.

RAY: Maybe you went into some kind of fugue-state?

MARC dodges the question.

MARC: Were any of you hurt?

RAY: No, mom managed to get us out of the way just in time. We probably could've put the fire out if they hadn't started throwing rocks through the other widows to feed the flame.

GENA: We got out the backdoor before it got really bad.

MARC: Good.

RICKY: When we got out of the alley, we saw that.

GENA gestures to the phone, which shows "MARC" pummeling the racists into submission.

RICKY: So for real, are you like, one of those superheroes?

GENA: _RICKY._

RICKY: What?

MARC shifts awkwardly on his bench and prepares to respond.

MARC: RICKY, I-

Enter CRAWLEY.

CRAWLEY: Salutations, my good friends.

RAY: Oh, hey, CRAWLEY.

CRAWLEY: Good evening, RAYMOND, EUGENA, RICHARD, …

He extends a hand to MARC, who vaguely recognizes him.

CRAWLEY: A pleasure to see you again, young man. You'll have to forgive my lamentable behavior yesterday. Merely in the throws of an ill-advised pharmaceutical concoction, not something a gentleman like myself should indulge in, but alas.

(to GENA)

May I join you four?

GENA: Sure.

CRAWLEY: I saw that your hall of fine cooking was rather cooked itself, my dear. I offer my deepest sympathies for your troubles.

MARC: What _is_ going to happen to your diner?

GENA: I've called the insurance company; we'll see what happens.

RICKY: Fingers crossed.

CRAWLEY: A wicked shame to be sure. The world of fine cuisine shares in my devastation over its loss.

RAY: It's okay, CRAWLEY, I managed to save you some tea bags.

RAY hands a few tea packages to the erudite homeless man.

CRAWLEY: Ah, my thanks, young RAYMOND.

MARC sees an opportunity to leave and takes it.

MARC: Uh, GENA, thanks for the meal, but I've taken up too much of your time and some people close to me are no doubt worried where I am, can we finish this another time?

RAY: Yeah, and Mom, we got to go or we'll be late.

GENA: … Alright, "JAKE", but I've still got some questions and I expect some answers.

MARC: Fair enough.

 **EXT. NEW YORK STREET - DAY**

MARC walks away from the park, trying to collect himself before facing MARLENE and FRENCHIE. What he doesn't know it that CRAWLY is following him.

Waiting at a crosswalk, CRAWLEY makes his presence known.

CRAWLEY: Young man! Young man!

MARC is in no mood to indulge this homeless man.

MARC: I'm sorry, sir, I think I left my wallet at my apartment.

CRAWLEY: Haha, oh that's not necessary.

MARC: Well then, would you mind … leaving me to my thoughts? Please?

CRAWLEY continues to shadow MARC.

CRAWLEY: If you were any deeper in thought, you'd be in the ground. Why don't you tell me what's on your mind?

MARC: I don't think I should be burdening homeless people with my problems.

CRAWLEY: On the contrary, I've found that the destitute are marvelous listeners to troubles and woes. You could even say that stories are their stock and trade. Well-suited audiences for tales from gentlemen-vagabonds like myself.

MARC shrugs his shoulders and relents.

MARC: I have a condition – like narcolepsy or something – I blackout and wake up in places and I have no idea how I got there.

CRAWLEY: I'm familiar with the age-old blackout, but I doubt that yours have much to do with alcohol. How long has this been going on for?

MARC: … a- a few months. Give or take.

CRAWLEY: Hm, well, in my experience, memories are never truly lost, just hidden away. They simply require the right kind of coxing to flush them out.

MARC: Like hypnosis?

CRAWLEY reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bunch of paper strips with smiley-faces on them.

CRAWLEY: I was going to suggest LSD, but whatever you're confortable with.

MARC looks at the tabs, speechless at this man's bluntness.

MARC: … Acid?

CRAWLEY: State-dependent memory, young man. If you can get your mind into a similar headspace as before, the memories will be easier to access.

MARC picks up one of the tabs and stares at it, conflicted.

MARC sighs.

MARC: How would this work?

CRAWLEY: Well, you could take it at home, provided it's a stress-free environment.

MARC has flashback to the night before, during his fight with MARLENE.

MARC: And what if it's not?

CRAWLEY: I happen to know of an abode not far from here; it's quiet and relaxed, we could go together.

MARC contemplates for a moment.

MARC: Wait, how much will this cost?

CRAWLEY wraps his arm around MARC's should.

CRAWLEY: Oh, we'll worry about that later.

 **INT. CONDEMED BUILDING**

The "abode" is actually a condemned building full of homeless squatters.

CRAWLEY and MARC walk past and over other homeless people in varying states of intoxication. Leading him up the dilapidated stairs, CRAWLEY notices his companion's growing apprehension.

CRAWLEY: Quickly now, not much further.

 **INT. CONDEMED BUILDING – CRAWLEY'S ROOM**

CRAWLEY opens a banged-up door as they enter a vacant room decorated with odd bits of furniture, stains on the wall, and a sheet-less mattress.

MARC sees CRAWLEY "lock" his door by looping a wire-hanger through the hole where the doorknob should be.

CRAWLEY: There. Not to worry, I'm almost never disturbed.

As the duo both find places to sit, the alarm-bells in MARC's head have reached deafening levels.

CRAWLEY: Something the matter, my boy?

MARC: I'm staring to think this really isn't for me.

CRAWLEY: Oh, nonsense. LSD is one of he safer recreational drugs out there. It's not even addictive.

MARC: It's not?

CRAWLEY: … Well, that's what I've heard.

MARC let's out a regretful scoff.

CRAWLEY: Besides, this is a fairly mild batch.

MARC: It's not what you took yesterday, right?

CRAWLEY: Oh, no. I would never expose a novice like you to such depths. Hardly ever do I steep so low as to subject myself to experiences like that.

MARC: Why do you do it at all?

CARWLEY: To pass the time; you would not believe how dull life can be without a television set.

MARC fiddles with the tab between his fingers, and looks at CRAWLEY.

MARC: … Are you going to take some?

CRAWLEY: I've learned that it's best to have a confidant of the sober variety at their side during a "first plunge."

MARC looks to the smiley-faced tab once more with apprehension.

CRAWLEY: I would like to remind you that this is a very mild dosage, and at worst, the walls will wiggle. You'll still be reasonably lucid, and you might witness colored spirals when you close your eyes. Nothing too extreme, I promise.

MARC throws caution to the wind and places the tab on his tongue.

MARC (tab on tongue): How long will thiths tage?

CRAWLEY shrugs and grabs a book off of his nightstand.

CRAWLEY: Hm, 10-15 minutes, give or take. Thought, it's important that you stay relaxed.

MARC leans back and sighs.

MARC: I'm mot a very relaksed perthson.

 **EXT. NEW YORK STREET – DAY**

A man – known only by the name of MR. QUINN - sits in an impeccable suit on a bench overlooking the Hudson River, eating an ice cream cone, seemingly without a care in the world.

Soon, an older woman, similarly dressed, joins him.

MR. QUINN: Thank you for coming.

WOMAN: My driver got lost three times trying to find this spot.

MR. QUINN: You need a better driver.

WOMAN: Why am I here, QUINN?

MR. QUINN: Well, first, that shop over there has the _best_ ice cream in the whole city.

WOMAN: I'm leaving.

QUINN motions his hand to stop her.

QUINN: I want to call a meeting.

WOMAN: That's presumptuous of you.

QUINN (con't): I want to speak to everyone, at once. I want everybody to be involved in this.

WOMAN: What makes you think they'll even show up?

QUINN: They'll have to; they'll need to. They'll want to hear what I have to say.

 **INT. SMALL APARTMENT – DINNING ROOM**

A woman by the name of BECKY SANDRICK stirs a pot of soup with a small baby in her left arm while two other children wrestle in the background. Suddenly, she hears a knock at the door, but she's too busy to answer it herself.

BECKY: BRANDON, sweetie, could you open the door for mommy?

BRANDON – one of the children rough-housing in the background – runs to get the door.

BRANDON opens the door and finds the RAY LANDERS with his brother and mother behind him.

RAY swoops up BRANDON in his arms with a smile on his face.

RAY: Hey, what's up little man?!

GENA: BECKY, we're here!

BECKY quickly puts the pot on low and greets her guests.

BECKY: Oh, it's so good to you, GENA.

GENA and BECKY hug.

BECKY (con't): How're the kids?

RAY/RICKY: Fine/Good.

The boys go off to greet the children as if they're family while GENA and BECKY talk.

BECKY: I'm so sorry about what happened to your café.

GENA: Yeah.

BECKY (con't): Are they gonna catch the guys who did it?

GENA: They already did.

BECKY: So you can sue them?

GENA: Maybe after we get the café fixed up with the insurance money.

BECKY: Good. Men like that are scum – attacking a single mother just trying to help her children. Y'know, I hope they got whatever they wanted out of it, because that's the last time they'll feel that kind of satisfaction.

GENA: _Something tells me they're not feeling much of anything anymore._

BECKY: What?

GENA: Eh, nothing.

GENA begins helping her cook when she notices something.

GENA: Hey, where's Scarlet?

BECKY: Uh, that girl never leaves her room. I swear, it's like the _instant_ she learned how to text zoop bye-bye human contact. SCARLET! COME SAY "HI" TO THE LANDERS!

 **INT. APARTMENT BATHROOM**

Scarlet - a girl no older than 14 - poses for a selfie in front of a mirror in a provocative manner.

BECKY (outside): SCARLET!

SCARLET: I hear you, Mom. I'm coming!

She sends the pictures to her boyfriend, and the texts read:

S: Wat doya thnk bae?

T: Hot.

T: …

T: I need 2 c u.

S: Soon.

T: Tonite.

T: …

T: Com on. You know no one understands you like I do.

SCARLET looks at the message with anxious excitement.

 **INT. CRAWLEY'S APARTMENT**

MARC sits in the same spot he was earlier opposite CRAWLEY, who is reading a book.

MARC shifts nervously in his seat.

MARC: I think I'm starting to feel something.

CRAWLEY: Good, that's very good. Don't fight it; just let all of it wash over you.

MARC visibly begins to get lost in the growing high as colors become brighter and his depth perception becomes altered.

MARC: This- this feels … weird.

CRAWLEY: Be proud, Mr. SPECTOR, you're about to participate in a very rich legacy. People have been using hallucinogens to expand their minds for thousands of years. The natives smoked peyote for their vision quests, the Mesoamericans used mushrooms to commune with spirits, and people have been using opium since the Neolithic. Wisemen believed that sacred plants lifted you to a higher reality, and scientists think that psychedelics improved our primitive neocortex. You could say humanity itself was built on drugs; it brought us closer to the gods.

MARC: Closer … to the … gods …

His perception of time starts becoming warped as well; he waves his hand back and forth and he sees it in a slow motion panoramic.

MARC: My hand … just … did that.

He continues playing with his altered senses, until he realizes something isn't right.

MARC: … Wait … How did …

He points at CRAWLEY, who looks to be 100 miles away but 10 stories tall.

MARC (con't) … How do you know my name?

CRAWLEY looks up form his book.

CRAWLEY: … I know many things, … _Marc_.

MARC rises to his feet as if his personal gravity had shifted.

MARC: You … you didn't give me a mild dose, did you?

CRAWLEY is unfazed by this accusation.

CRAWLEY: MARC, there's something you need to see.

MARC panics.

Suddenly, the walls start melting and the room begins spinning. He tries to turn with it, but it picks up speed. MARC's only hope is to catch the door by the knob as it passes by. After a few failures, he manages to grab it on the room's third revolution, grinding the room to a halt.

He grips the doorknob and attempts the twist it, only for it to melt in his hand. After fiddling the hub, he digs his fingers in between the door and the doorframe until he gets a perches and rips it open. He exits the room into an impossibly long hallway, only for the gravity to suddenly shift around him. Slamming into the wall in front of him, he becomes terrified that if he stands up, gravity will shift again.

Shimmying along the wall with the tips of his feet touching what used to be the floor, until he falls backwards on the now vertical floor. He gets to his feet, and from his perspective he is standing perpendicular to where gravity should be falling.

Making his way to the stairs, he grabs hold of the railing and inches down the steps.

Finally reaching the last step, he begins to hear a voice calling his name. Following it, he passes a mirror that's been cracked, splintering MARC's reflection. He looks at it quizzically, as if his three other reflections are moving out of sync with each other. Tearing himself away, he comes to a door in the middle of a wall and opens it.

He enters a black void that's only illuminated by a series of overhead spotlights stretching forever in all four directions.

Suddenly, the lights begin to switch off.

MARC frantically tries to keep ahead of the darkness but he is soon swallowed by it.

After what seems like an eternity of darkness, a single blinding light shines. MARC's eyes struggle to become accustomed to the light, finally spotting the back of a leather chair in front of him.

Then, a single gloved hand reaches out from behind the chair, beckoning him. It's KONSHUE.

KONSHUE: **COME, MY CHILD.**

MARC takes tentative steps towards and around the chair until they meet face-to-face. KONSHUE sits in his chair with a contemplative posture, still sporting the bird-skull for a head.

MARC: … KONSHUE.

KONSHUE: **CLOSER, LET ME SEE YOU.**

MARC steps closer and kneels before him.

KONSHUE extends a hand and maneuvers it around MARC's head without touching him.

KONSHUE: **THESE ARE YOU FIRST STEPS.**

KONSHUE taps his thumb on MARC's forehead.

An entire universe of colors and shapes explode around MARC's head as he falls backwards. His eyes glaze over as time and space surrounds and penetrates him.

He's falling so slowly he can see his own body while three other distinct outlines of his himself fall out and in sync with him, until all plummet with the velocity of a meteor.

 **INT. STEVEN GRANT'S APPARTMENT - DUSK**

FRENCHIE stands in the kitchen washing the dishes, while MARLENE puts away packaged food.

There's still an awkward tension in the air; they're visibly concerned if they should be calling in a missing-persons-report.

MARLENE decides to cut the tension.

MARLENE: Y'know, JEAN-PAUL, I wouldn't have pegged you for Pakistani kind of chef.

FENCHIE: Oh, I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment. Perhaps next time I should prepare for the Madame some _escargot_ and soufflé paired with a glass of _Bordeaux_?

MARLENE: Please don't, I haven't the constitution for snails.

Beat.

MARLENE (con't): … Incidentally, escargot is parried with _Burgundy_.

That incites a small laugh for the pair.

Suddenly, MARLENE's phone starts vibrating. She rushes to grab but is taken aback when she answers it.

FRENCHIE: Is that MARC?

MARLENE turns white.

MARLENE: … It's the police.

 _(End of Act 2)_

 _(Act 3)_

 **INT. HOSPITAL - NIGHT**

A doctor is escorting MARLENE and FRENCHIE.

DOCTOR: The police found Mr. GRANT wandering the streets, babbling about God-knows-what. His wallet was missing and he didn't have a phone, so he was a John Doe until they confirmed his identity. They sent him to us and then we called you.

MARLENE and FRENCHIE share concerned looks.

They follow the doctor into the hospital room where they find MARC, still delirious.

DOCTOR: We're currently flushing his system. He should be fine. Aside from the drugs, he also shows signs of bodily trauma.

MARLENE: W-what does that mean?

DOCTOR (con't): Well, either he was hit by a car recently, or he was in one hell of a bar-fight.

FRENCHIE and MARLENE sit by the side of MARC's bed.

MARC stirs.

FRENCHIE: Doctor, may we have une minute alone, s'il vous plaît?

DOCTOR: Of course.

After the DOCTOR leaves, MARC starts talking.

MARC: Hmm … hey guys.

MARLENE: MARC, what happened to you?

MARC: W-where am I?

FRENCHIE: The hospital. They say you were high on acid.

MARC: Oh, yeah, that makes sense. … I'm sorry, guys, I didn't mean to-

MARLENE: No, MARC, _I'm_ sorry … I shouldn't have come after you like that.

MARC: Okay, then we're _all_ sorry.

FRENCHIE … Why am I sorry? I didn't do anything.

The three share a quick laugh.

MARLENE: MARC, where did you go? What happened?

MARC: I – I took a walk.

FRENCHIE: And that walk involved acid?

MARC: Yeah, probably not the best decision I ever made. But, it was good for me.

MARLENE: Why?

MARC: Because-

MARC leans up from his bed.

MARC: - I think I finally understand what I have to do.

 **INT. OFFICE BUILDING – BOARDROOM – DAY**

MR. QUINN stands before a window overlooking New York, deep in thought.

A relaxed and professional gaze stares through the plexiglass, until his focus shifts to the reflection of his bodyguard, BRUNO.

BRUNO: MR. QUINN, they have arrived, sir.

QUINN: Excellent, BRUNO. Send them in.

Men and women of varying description all in the attire of business executives start shuffling into the room and take their seats at a large conference table.

QUINN moves away from the window and starts idly walking around his associates.

On the wall behind the conference table is a framed map of the Hanseatic League's trade routes.

QUINN: Ladies, gentlemen, thank you all for coming. You're probably wondering why I called this meeting, I'm well aware of the … _trying_ times you and your respective networks have been having since Midland Circle. We're in uncharted waters with no rudder and no captain to guide us. I share your concerns. Everyone in this room, held secrets that could start wars, and sometimes did. Presidents, kings, dictators, business owners, small-time drug dealers, they _all_ worked for _us_ , and what did we get out of it? Five snake-oil salesmen who promised us immortality.

An older woman bristles at QUINN's speech as her patience runs thin.

WOMAN: Enough grandstanding, QUINN, why are we here?

QUINN: We all built an empire using our blood, sweat, and tears, just to prop up _five_ _people_. We were knocked off balance when news arrived of the deaths, but seeing you all here prove to me that we _can_ find some kind of equilibrium without them. The "Fingers" ran the Hand like some Jonestown death cult, but organizations such as ours aren't built on faith, they're built on _business_.

QUINN walks to the end of the table and sits in the last empty seat.

QUINN (con't): Why should _our_ hard work be squandered? Why should the networks _we_ built crumble because some creepy old people bit the dust? This business needs new leadership and why that can't be us? I vote we rebrand, we reshuffle the hierarchy where the people who actually put in the hours get the profits. I say, the kings are dead, long live the kings. All in favor? …

The businesspeople look to each other before looking back to QUINN.

 **CUT TO BLACK**

 _[End of Act 3]_

 _[End of episode]_

 _Author's Note: the main purpose of this writing exercise is to accurately portray DID (as well as the source material), and if you feel there are areas that need improvement, please let me know._


	3. White Night - Part 1

**INT. CONDEMNED HOTEL – NIGHT**

MARC is clad in a business white suit that's torn and covered in blood.

Panting, wiping blood away from a broken nose, he slumps against a dirty wall, gripping a piece of equally bloody white garment.

Finding a moment's rest amidst what is no doubt chaos, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. That is, until he hears the pitter-patter of boots and shoes thumping on the floor above him.

With a warranted groan, he forces himself up to his feet

MARC: … "Improvise. Adapt. Overcome." "Improvise. Adapt. Overcome." …

MARC limbers up, and prepares for his next serving of goons to beat up. Finishing it off by unwrapping the white garment in his hand, revealing it to be a white balaclava mask, which he puts on.

 _[Cue opening credits]_

 **EPISODE CARD** "White Knight - Part 1"

 _[End opening credits]_

 **INT. STEVEN GRANT'S APARTMENT — SHOWER**

MARC stands under the stream of refreshing hot water and gently cleans his scabbed-up knuckles. Upon further inspection, we once again see the scars on his torso and it looks like something went through his abdomen and exited out of his back.

A subtitle reads: " **3 Days Ago…"**

Finishing up with the shower, he puts on a bathrobe as he enters his bedroom and we see in his mind's-eye how he got home from the hospital.

 **THE BEDROOM - FLASHBACK**

A still-loopy Marc is tripping over himself as his arm is slung around MARLENE.

MARLENE: Okay, here we go, look where we are: your room.

MARC: My room.

MARLENE (con't): That's right.

MARC: I told you, you don't need to help me. I'm fine.

MARLENE: The doctors said there'd still be a little bit of acid in your system, it should be gone by the morning.

MARC: I'm fine. Look, I can stand on my own-

MARC untangles himself from MARLENE and stands at the foot of his bed.

MARC: See? Solid like a rock.

MARC immediately starts to wobble. MARLENE instinctively grabs onto him to keep his balance until he falls backwards, taking her with him.

MARELEN: Oof.

MARC: Why are we on the bed?

MARLENE: Because you're heavy like a rock, too.

MARC laughs mildly as MARLENE gets up and starts taking off his shoes.

MARC: Are you staying here?

MARLENE: No, FRENCHIE is driving me home.

MARC: Why?

MARLENE: Because the rest of us have jobs, MARC. And I would like to go to my job tomorrow after sleeping in my nice, comfy bed.

MARC: Busy, busy, busy. You need a vacation. Have you ever been to Budapest? It's beautiful.

MARLENE: When I get enough money together, I will.

MARC: … Maybe I could take you?

MARLENE: … You would do that? What about JEAN-PAUL.

MARC: Well, somebody has to drive us there.

With his shoes off, MARC shifts slightly to get comfortable, and looks to MARLENE.

MARC: … Thanks for being worried about me.

MARLENE sits on the edge of the bed and grips MARC's hand.

MARLENE: Let's try not to make a habit of it.

MARC: I'll try.

They share a moment of silence as they look at each other's gripped hands.

MARLENE: Goodnight, MR. SPECTOR.

MARC: Goodnight, MISS ALRAUNE.

MARLENE leaves.

 _[Flashback Ends]_

MARC has know dressed himself.

Wordlessly, he leans against a wall and stares at his bed contemplatively with a subtle amount of longing. Obviously thinking about the single moment he had with MARLENE.

Satisfied, he pushes himself off the wall and leaves the room.

 **INT. APARTMENT SECOND-STORY WALKWAY**

Walking the length of the balcony, he runs his fingers across the various antique weaponry that decorates the wall, before stopping on an Egyptian khopesh.

Taking the sword off the wall, MARC inspects it with great care and diligence.

After getting a feel for the weight, he begins to swing it around experimentally. Until something shifts in his movements and he begins wielding it with an expertise not seen before.

Exhibiting unexpected precision, MARC sweeps the blade through the air with speed and grace.

Finally ending with a guard-stance.

There are no words to be spoken. Just a grim determination in MARC's eyes.

Or are those really MARC's eyes?

 **INT. LANDERS' APARTMENT**

Inside their apartment, the LANDERS - with nothing to do while the diner is closed - all pass the time in their own ways; RICKY sits on the couch and plays a video game, RAY is seated in a chair reading a book, while GENA is sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop, going over financials.

Suddenly, the phone rings in the living room.

GENA, in the kitchen, calls to one of her sons.

GENA: Could one of you get that?

RICKY/RAY: Okay.

After briefly acknowledging her request, her sons don't remove themselves from their respective enthrallments and the phone continues to ring.

The phone rings again, causing GENA to silently look at her sons who still haven't moved.

GENA: … Whenever you're ready, boys.

Finally cluing in, the boys look expectantly at each other.

RAY (to RICKY): You get it.

RICKY: Why should I?

RAY: You're closer.

RICKY: I'm in the middle of a game, you're _reading_?

RAY: You could pause!

RICKY: You could _stop_!

GENA gets up in a huff.

As their mother walks past, they continue their argument.

RAY: I can't believe you made her get.

RICKY: I didn't do shit!

RAY: Exactly my point.

Reaching the phone in the living room, she picks it up.

GENA: Hello? Oh, BECKY! I wasn't expecting—

There's a pause.

GENA: … What? No, I haven't seen her since…

While GENA continues her conversation, we go back to the Boys.

RAY: -If I'm on fire, do I have to wait for you to be done with your game before I can expect your help?

RICKY: Don't worry, if you're ever on fire, I'll be the first person to point and laugh.

Back to GENA:

GENA: … I see. … Y-yeah, of course. Do you want me to come over? … Okay, I'll be right there.

GENA hangs up the phone, visibly anxious.

She stands silently as she takes in what was just discussed before walking back to the kitchen.

She walks past the Boys who immediately stop bickering when they notice her change in behavior.

RICKY: What's going on, mom?

RAY: Who was on the phone?

GENA enters the kitchen and grabs her coat off the wall.

GENA: That was BECKY … SCARLET's missing.

[ _End of Act 1_ ]

[ _Act 2_ ]

 **BECKY SANDRICK'S APARTMENT - DAY -**

The LANDERS are over at BECKY SANDRICK's apartment and broken up into two teams — GENA consoles BECKY, while RAY and RICKY entertain her sons.

BECKY: It's just- … I'm kinda panicking here, GENA.

GENA: I know, girl.

BECKY: I mean, what is it going to look like if I call the cops, then suddenly, "oh, sorry Mom. I was sleeping over at a friend's and I forgot to charge my phone."

GENA: And she hasn't answered your calls?

BECKY: No, it just goes straight to voicemail. And I'd call her friends, but I don't know their phone numbers.

BECKY leans forward and cups her face in her hands, and GENA just rubs her back.

Meanwhile, RICKY eavesdrops on the conversation while RAY plays with the boys.

One of the children presents an assortment of toys to RAY — one of which he proudly demonstrates to him.

BOY 1: And- And _this_ one, it turns into a dragon-bat.

RAY: Wow.

BOY 2: Yeah, yeah. And then the ears, they flip up like this.

RAY: Wow, that's really cool, guys. What else do you have?

While RAY humors the children, RICKY stands by the doorway, thinking.

RAY looks to his brother and tries to get him to help.

RAY: _RICKY_ , come on. They want to show us more Megaforce Defenders.

RICKY: Uh, right. Sorry.

Before he joins the three, he looks back at his phone, which shows a Google search for "Steve Grant New York."

Back to the mothers, BECKY is still fretting.

GENA: Look, we'll wait another hour. If nothing changes until then, _then_ we'll call the cops.

BECKY can only nod her head.

GENA embraces her friend once more. Sharing in her fear and uncertainty.

 **NEW YORK STREETS - MID-DAY**

RICKY looks at his phone once more as he stands outside an uptown apartment building.

He goes inside.

 **STEVEN GRANT'S APARTMENT**

MARC sits in lotus position, meditating. His chest rising and falling as he takes deep, controlled breaths.

Before him are several books pertaining to Egyptian mythology. Specifically in relation to Khonshu.

His meditation is interrupted by one of a group of men who're moving a large rectangular crate into his apartment.

MOVER 1: Uh, is this good, pal?

MARC dismissively waves a hand at them.

MARC: Yes, yes. Anywhere will do.

The MOVER just shrugs and presents MARC with a clipboard and pen.

MARC take the pen and quickly scribbles in a name before returning to his meditation.

Satisfied, the MOVER takes his men and leaves.

MOVER 1: Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. GRANT.

MARC doesn't acknowledge his words.

A few moments after the men leave, MARC gets up and grabs a crowbar.

Walking over to the crate, which is standing on its end, he jams the teeth of the bar into the crate's seams and breaks it open.

We don't see what's inside the crate. But whatever it is, MARC looks upon it with a certain amount of reverence.

Suddenly, he hears a knock at the door.

With a huff, he marches to the door with the crowbar in hand.

Opening it he finds, not one of the movers, but RICKY along with FRENCHIE.

RICKY: We need to talk.

 **STEVEN GRANT'S APARTMENT LIVING ROOM**

FRENCHIE, RICKY, and MARC sit in silence in the living room.

FRENCHIE speaks first.

FRENCHIE: … No.

MARC: FRENCHIE-

FRENCHIE (CON'T) Non, STEVEN, they should go to the police, not get you involved.

MARC: Probably, but I just think-

RICKY interrupts.

RICKY: Look, I'm not asking ya to knock-down doors, or something. I just thought if - ya know - if … worse comes to worse… You could-

FRENCHIE: He could what?

RICKY nervously stutters.

RICKY: I don't know, man. Do your "caped crusader" stuff.

FRENCHIE: _Pardon_?

FRENCHIE looks to MARC, confused and angry.

MARC, however, is deep in thought at the prospect. He seems a bit conflicted … until he starts rubbing the center of his forehead.

He's made his decision.

MARC: Can you take us there?

 **INT. NEW YORK STREETS. WHITE LIMO**

MARC sits opposite RICKY while FRENCHIE drives.

MARC is in the middle of a train of thought until he notices RICKY, who seems a little giddy.

MARC: First time in a limo?

RICKY: Uh, yeah.

MARK smiles.

MARC: Yeah, I know what that's like.

RICKY: Whatever you do for a living, I want in on it.

A minor hint of melancholy flashes on MARC's face, but he powers through it.

MARC: Antiques.

RICKY: What?

MARC (CON'T): I buy and sell antiques. Usually in that order.

RICKY huffs as he looks around the limo.

RICKY: Lot of money in the antique business?

MARC stares at him for a moment.

MARC: You wouldn't believe.

 _[End of Act 2]_

 _[Act 3]_

 **EXT. NEW YORK STREETS. LIMO**

The limo comes to a park and FRENCHIE opens the door for his passengers.

MARC steps out and RICKY beckons them.

RICKY: Com' on, this way.

 **INT. APARTMENT BUILDING.**

RICKY leads them to the apartment door, but FRENCHIE grabs MARC by the shoulder.

FRENCHIE: STEVEN, can I talk to you privately?

RICKY looks to MARC.

MARC: It'll just be a minute. Hold on.

RICKY goes inside, leaving the two to discuss.

MARC: Something on your mind.

FRENCHIE: What are we doing here, MARC? Why are you involving yourself in this?

MARC: FRENCHIE-

FRENCHIE (CON'T): And what did that kid mean by "caped crusader stuff"? Does this have anything to do with you disappearing the past two nights?

MARC: I - I - I'm not saying it isn't.

FRENCHIE: _Mon dieu_.

MARC: Look, JEAN-PAUL, … I- this is _way_ too complicated to explain here and now. Suffice to say, I don't know why but I just have this "feeling" that this is where I'm supposed to be. And, maybe this a false-alarm anyway; like the girl accidentally set her phone on vibrate, and we can all go home.

MARC grabs his friend by the shoulders.

MARC: Just indulge me a little more, then we'll see what happens. Okay?

Before FRENCHIE can answer, GENA opens the door and sticks her head out.

GENA: JAKE?

MARC turns to her while FRENCHIE looks at MARC quizzically.

MARC: GENA.

FRENCHIE: "JAKE"?

 **INT. BECKY'S APARTMENT. LIVING ROOM**

In BECKY's apartment, GENA hands her a cup of tea, while MARC sits opposite her and FRENCHIE stands off to the side.

BECKY: So, um, you're one of GENA's friends?

MARC: I'm … one of her customers.

BECKY: Oh.

BECKY nervously sips her tea.

MARC: Uhm, I'm told that you're concerned about your daughter?

BECKY: Are you part of law enforcement?

MARC: Sort of.

BECKY/GENA: "Sort of"?

MARC: I - I … used to be.

FRENCHIE: In a way.

MARC cuts a stare at FRENCHIE before looking back to BECKY.

MARC: And your daughter didn't give you any notice that she was leaving?

BECKY: No. I didn't even know she was gone until this morning.

FRENCHIE: Why haven't you called the police?

BECKY is about to answer before GENA does it for her.

GENA: Because we're all hoping this isn't serious.

FRENCHIE: Of course, but wouldn't it put your mind at ease knowing that _professionals_ are helping.

BECKY: Don't you have to wait like 48 hours before I call?

FRENCHIE: No, that's a myth.

MARC: Well, regardless, she'll need to put together a clue-kit if-and-when she decides to call the cops.

GENA: A what?

MARC/RAY: A clue-kit.

Everybody looks at RAY who was eavesdropping on the conversation with RICKY.

RAY (CON'T): It's a collection of things that could help the police find missing people.

MARC: …Right. We can help you put one together, if you want.

BECKY looks at GENA, then thinks for a moment.

BECKY: … Okay. Let's do that.

RICKY, RAY, FRENCHIE, and MARC gather up the supplies needed for the clue kit and start working. GENA stands with BECKY, who supervises.

Collecting hairbrushes, toothbrushes, and dirty clothes for DNA evidence.

FRENCHIE: So, SCARLET's phone is unaccounted for, does she have any diaries that you know about.

BECKY thinks for a moment before shaking her head.

BECKY: ...No. Not that I'm aware of.

MARC: The cops will need a photo, too. Any recent pictures lying around?

BECKY: They'd be on her phone.

RAY: Or her computer.

RAY sits down at her desk and opens up SCARLET's laptop.

RAY (CON'T): If she's synched her phone with her computer recently, then the most recent selfies would be in her library. What's the password?

BECKY: Um, try, "Roses" with a capital "R." We use that password for everything.

RAY types in the code.

RAY: Alright, I'm in.

RICKY: ... What're you in spy movie?

RAY: Shut up. Checking her photo library... It's loading, hold on.

Meanwhile, FRENCHIE notices an odd tuck in SCARLET's bedsheets.

MARC turns to GENA and BECKY.

MARC: Have you noticed any abnormal behavior from her?

BECKY: _No_ , everything seemed fine.

GENA: No trouble in school?

BECKY: She's got a 4.0 GPA and is aiming for full academic scholarship.

FRENCHIE (Off-Screen): Not anymore…

FRENCHIE holds a report card in his hand, which he dug out from under the mattress.

FRENCHIE: It's a report card, dated for last week.

BECKY snatches it from his hand and stares at it. GENA and MARC crane for a look.

MARC: … 4.0s have changed since I was in school.

BECKY: W- why wouldn't she tell me?

FRENCHIE: Maybe she was ashamed? She didn't want you to be disappointed?

BECKY: I wouldn't have been-

Meanwhile, the Boys manage to get the photo library to load.

GENA: You boys get that library to load?

RICKY: Yeah, but it's just a bunch of screenshots of texts messages and selfies of some guy.

GENA: Some guy?

RAY: Yeah, we'll let you know when weeoOH MY GOD!

All the adults simultaneously turn and move towards the computer, but the boys block their view.

RAY: No, no, no, no, no.

RICKY: I don't think you want to see this, Ms. SANDRICK

BECKY: _Why_?

RAY: Does SCARLET have a boyfriend?

BECKY: What? No! Why would you even-

BECKY pushes the boys out of the way, and sees what they were trying to keep from her: selfies of SCARLET in various stages of undress. Finally culminating in what we DON'T see but the nature of which we can deduce from the look of horror on her mother's face.

 **INT. BECKY'S APARTMENT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT**

The police have arrived and one officer is interviewing BECKY while another is loading up the clue-kit.

MARC, GENA, and FRENCHIE sit at the dining table, while the boys distract BECKY's sons.

We only get the bare minimum of what the cop is saying to BECKY, but it filled with euphemisms: "No need to worry," "probably at a friend's," "we'll get back to you as soon as possible," ect.

Later, after the cops leave, no one wants to be the first to speak, not that they'd have anything to say. GENA and FRENCHIE sit and comfort BECKY, while MARC sits alone at the dining table, fiddling with a coffee mug.

A grim feeling overtakes him and fills his eyes as the sound of the mug scraping against the table becomes the only noise he can focus on. A steely demeanor belays a deep … weariness? As if he knows what comes next but is already tired.

Suddenly, FRENCHIE breaks his focus.

FRENCHIE: STEVEN? _STEVEN?_

MARC: What?

FRENCHIE: I believe it is time for us to take our leave, no?

 **EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - NIGHT**

FRENCHIE escorts MARC to the limo, but RICKY catches up to them.

RICKY: Hey, where're you goin'?

FRENCHIE: Home. He's going home.

RICKY: That's it? That's all you're gonna do?

FRENCHIE: It's in the capable hands of the police, young man.

RICKY: You really think the cops are gonna do sometin, man? This town ain't like what it used to be. Ever since 2012, the whole city's been swirlin' in the shitter; why do ya' think you super-heroes get so much action around here?

RICKY looks to MARC.

RICKY (CON'T): Come on, man, she needs your help.

… MARC silently looks at RICKY, then to FRENCHIE, then gets into the car.

RICKY looks confused, betrayed, and crushed all at once. FRENCHIE tries to offer his sympathies, but is rebuked.

 **INT. LIMO. NEW YORK**

MARC sits in the back while FRENCHIE watches him in the rear-view.

FRENCHIE: … It's for the best, MARC. The police are professionals

Whatever response he was hoping for, he didn't get one from MARC.

MARC … Did I ever tell you about that time I tracked down that cell of suicide bombers in Afghanistan?

FRENCHIE: Yes, amazing what you can do with CIA resources and contacts.

MARC: Actually I made _my own_ contacts: talked to people, called in favors, went places I wasn't supposed to, and I made it work. While I was there I heard rumors about girls in other towns and villages, who had gone to America for "work," and it was always the same old song; some nice guy came along, made them feel special, promised desperate families a paying job in the states, and wouldn't you know it … the girl was never heard from again.

Stopping at a red light, FRENCHIE turns to face his friend directly.

FRENCHIE (CON'T): … MARC?

MARC makes eye contact.

FRENCHIE (CON'T): … _STEVEN GRANT_ can't help that girl.

MARC dips his head before shifting his focus out the window, lazily waiting for the light to change. Then something catches his eye - a familiar rainbow vest and drabby overcoat.

Without hesitation, MARC gets out of the limo and walks across the street to the man wearing the coat - CRAWLEY.

CRAWLEY: Ah, salutations, my friend. What can I do for you?

MARC: You told me that homeless people like to talk, right?

CRAWLEY: I vaguely recall something to that effect.

MARC: Well,-

MARC pulls out some money.

MARC: -maybe you could talk to a few people for me.

 **BACK IN THE LIMO**

MARC settles back in after talking to CRAWLEY. FRENCHIE isn't pleased.

FRENCHIE: I don't think I've ever before in my life so desperately wanted to hear a "yes" from this question: did you buy drugs from that man?

MARC: No, just, the word on the street.

 _[End of Act 3]_

 _[End of Episode]_

 _Author's Note:This took_ ** _much_** _longer than I thought it would take to write, so you'll have to forgive me. In my defense, I wanted this to be as realistic as possible so that required me to do extensive research about child abductions and sex trafficking, and that's not exactly light reading. This was originally longer but I split it into a two-parter and will post the followup if there's a demand for it._


	4. White Night - Part 2

**EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - DAY**

MARC meets with RICKY and RAY in an alley outside their apartment.

MARC: Now, you're sure this was the guy's name in those screenshots?

RAY: Yeah, but I'm not sure how it'll help, it was probably a fake name.

MARC: You never know.

RICKY: Do ya need us to do anything else?

MARC: No, you two have done enough.

MARC turns to leave, but RICKY stops him.

RICKY: Hey, come on, w-we can do more. Let us help.

MARC: … How old are you two?

RICKY: 21… ish.

RAY: He's 17, and I'm 22.

RICKY: _DUDE!_

MARC: RICKY, I appreciate the help but there are more important things for you two to do than get wrapped up in something like this. The last thing I need is two kids getting hurt on my account.

RICKY looks like he's going to say something, but RAY stops him, and MARC walks away.

 **MONTAGE** : CRAWLEY makes his way through the shanty-towns and condemned buildings, getting information here and there, and relaying it to MARC. Unbeknownst to them, RICKY and RAY are browsing a knock-off Craigslist for any new "ads" for "girls."

Finally, MARC gets an update from CRAWLEY to meet him at an address.

 **EXT. NEW YORK STREETS - NIGHT**

MARC's limo stops in front of CRAWLEY. MARC rolls down the window and addresses him.

MARC: You sure you got the right place?

CRAWLEY: Positive.

MARC gets out of the limo and follows after CRAWLEY.

 **EXT. ALLEYWAY - NIGHT**

A cop exits a building snorting a bump of cocaine from a tiny spoon before concealing it in a black marker container. Passing a bouncer, they exchange pleasantries.

BOUNCER: Have fun, officer?

COP: Heh, heh, I always do.

Before he leaves, he slips the BOUNCER some money.

COP: Don't tell nobody.

BOUNCER: Yeah, yeah.

As the COP makes it to his squad car, he finds that his keys won't work on the door. Upon further inspection, he sees gum jammed into the keyhole.

Before he can think of what to do next, a gag is wrapped around his mouth while a black bag is pulled over his head.

…

Later, the black bag is removed and he's in a different alleyway with his hands strung-up on a fire escape, face-to-face with MARC wearing his white balaclava, with CRAWLEY right behind him.

His voice is rough and gravely.

MARC: Officer IAN BOWERMAN.

MARC flips through BOWERMAN'S wallet with his badge in his other hand.

MARC: (Con't): #5643, 5'11, unmarried, 783 John Fitzgerald Kennedy Blvd, #5B. A cop from Bronx shouldn't be walking out of such a disreputable place at this time of night.

BOWERMAN tries to talk through his gag.

BOWERMAN: Yor' 'acking a hig misdake, man. A _hig_ misdake.

MARC smacks him across the face. BOWERMAN is stunned and CRAWLEY is taken aback.

MARC (con't): Here's what I think - just based on the "word-on-the-street" - guys like you like to "powder your nose"-

"MARC" emphasizes that last part by presenting the black marker, opening it, and tauntingly letting all the cocaine fall out. His voice is gravelier than before.

BOWERMAN can barely contain his outrage.

"MARC" (con't): -and enjoy yourselves until the girls there pass-out from tainted drugs, so you can … do what you want with them. "Hot-Shotting" I think is what it' is called.

BOWERMAN tries to protest, but MARC cuts him off by administering an Abdominal Slap - an interrogation technique used by the CIA to induce "fear."

"MARC": You are a rather popular man, officer BOWERMAN. Why the department has not made an example out of you is anyone's guess; cops looking out for each other, I suppose. But I know you know where they take the new girls to "break them in." So tell me where to go, and do not lie. I will know.

"MARC" removes the gag.

BOWERMAN: Why the hell do you care, huh? Oh, big white knight is gonna charge in and save the day, eh Travis Bickle? Let me tell you somethin' you should've figured out by now: whores'll be whores.

"MARC" reaches up and breaks one of his fingers.

"MARC": Answer me or I break another finger. Not joking.

BOWERMAN: GO TO HELL!

"MARC" snaps two more fingers.

"MARC": You have seven fingers left to break. About to be six. Your choice.

BOWERMAN: Okay, okay, there's a place on … 71st and Rogers. Virgins go there and sell for extra, y'know, 'cause they're clean. I'm telling the truth, man! I swear!

There's a pause …

"MARC": I believe you.

"MARC" snaps another finger anyway and stuffs the gag back in.

"MARC" walks away from the crying cop with CRAWLEY in tow.

CRAWLEY: Uh, good show, my boy.

MARC: That's what they teach you in CIA.

CRAWLEY: So, what now?

MARC: Now I call us a ride.

CRAWLEY: That's the spirit.

CRAWLEY slaps his hand on MARC's shoulder, only for MARC to reflexively grab CRAWLEY's hand and put it into a lock.

"MARC": He may have forgiven you for the other day, but _I_ _won't_.

"MARC" releases his grip and keeps walking.

[end of scene]

 _[Cue opening credits]_

 **EPISODE CARD** "White Knight - Part 2"

 _[End opening credits]_

 **INT. CONDEMNED HOTEL – NIGHT — FLASHFORWARD**

With his white mask firmly on, MARC marches towards a staircase the goons are descending. Grabbing a fire-extinguisher off the wall, he takes the pin out and begins spraying the contents everywhere, creating an impromptu smoke-screen.

A few thugs fire off blind shots through the smoke but fail to hit their target, allowing MARC to respond by tossing the canister directly at them.

With the thugs thoroughly disoriented, MARC jumps right into the thick of it, relieving the armed ones of their weapons by throwing them over the railing, he breaks limbs and cracks skulls until his path is clear.

Reaching the next level, a trio of asian women in their underwear exit a room in front of him and immediately run to the opposite direction. Walking past a few closed doors, he almost reflexively goes back to one of them.

His ear pressed against the door, MARC hears a man whispering to someone inside.

MAN: —always loved you the best, CYNTHIA. You never tried to run or nothin'. Not like the other whores. They were dirty, dirty, _whores_. That's why we're gonna be together forever. _Forever_.

MARC hears a gun cock and a small whimper.

MAN: Don't cry, this is beautiful.

Without a moment's hesitation, MARC kicks the door open and rushes in.

MAN: _NOOOOOOO_!

Sounds of gunfire and blows landing emanate from inside the room until the fight leads them into the hall again.

The MAN - bearded, disheveled, and emaciated - grapples with MARC as they wrestle for control over the gun. Complicating matters is the MAN showing shocking levels of strength, indicative of a massive meth-high.

MAN: YOU WON'T TAKE HER FROM ME! _I PAID FOR HER, SHE BELONGS TO MEEEE!_

Pinning him on the railing, the MAN struggles with MARC's iron-grip to aim the gun-barrel at the latter's face.

Suddenly, the old metal railing begins to groan. And then give way.

MARC manages to grab onto one of the railing poles, but the MAN was not so quick.

The MAN falls four stories and belly-flops onto the tiled lobby below.

Wrenching himself back up and ripping one of the railing-poles off, MARC returns to the room and we see a little girl - no older than nine - sitting on a stained mattress with her leg chained to a metal pipe.

The girl doesn't cower or react at all to him.

MARC sticks the pole in-between the wall and the pipe, breaks it loose, and removes the chain.

He looks to the girl, who looks completely detached from anything going on around her.

MARC points to the door.

MARC: Lock this door when I leave and don't open it for anyone.

The girl doesn't respond.

MARC kneels down and looks her in the eye.

"MARC": Do you understand me?

After a moment, the girl speaks.

GIRL: Is he gone?

Stunned, MARC can't think of anything to say.

He lifts his mask just above his nose and his voice suddenly changes to a Brooklyn accent with a soothing cadence.

MARC/JAKE: Yea, kid, he's gone. He ain't gonna … he ain't gonna touch you no more.

The girl's eyes dart away, seemingly unable to decide how she feels about this.

MARC/JAKE: Hey, listen, my man's gotta go back out there because he's still got a job to do. But I need to know that you'll lock that door as soon as I leave. Ya hear me?

The GIRL nods.

MARC/JAKE: Good kid. Don't open it for nobody.

Satisfied, MARC's body language shifts again, leaves the room, and shuts the door behind him.

He makes his way to another set of staircases when he spots a security camera crudely nailed to the ceiling.

MARC takes the pole and smashes the camera to bits.

[ _End of Act 1_ ]

[ _Act 2_ ]

 **EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING – NIGHT**

A nondescript car pulls up to an apartment complex on 71st and Rogers, and exiting out of the car are MARC and FRENCHIE.

 **INT. APARTMENT BUILDING – NIGHT**

Walking down the apartment hallway, the duo reach the end at a particular door with a brass knocker, with music and shouting emanating from inside.

MARC knocks.

After the sounds of several deadbolts being unlocked, the door is opened a crack by a man with several dragon face-tattoos.

DRAGON: … Go away.

The door closes.

MARC and FRENCHIE exchange glances and knock on the door again.

The door opens and MARC presents the man with a hundred dollar bill.

MARC: Would a hundred bucks get us inside?

DRAGON: … two hundred.

MARC produces another hundred, which the man accepts.

The duo are lead inside the apartment which is filled with men of various descriptions and backgrounds; gangsters, businessmen, and what appear to be college students, of the spoiled rich kind.

Several of the men have started throwing pocket knives at a board with a target drawn on it.

Before MARC and FRENCHIE can mingle, they are greeted by an affable asian man named MR. CHAN.

MR. CHAN: Ah, new arrivals. Welcome gentlemen, you may call me MR. CHAN, I'll be your host for the evening.

FRENCHIE shakes his hand and MARC grudgingly does as well.

MR. CHAN: Now, tell me, what's your poison? Blondes? Brunetts? Redheads? Asians? Blacks? Whites? Mexicans? We've got quite an assortment for tonight.

MARC shifts uncomfortably because of this man's cavalier attitude towards his "job," disgusts him to his core.

FRENCHIE sees this and immediately jumps in.

FRENCHIE: We'll just see where the evening takes us, shall we?

MR. CHAN: Oh, of course, of course. Please, have a drink and relax, we have a well-stocked bar and an excellent bartender.

FRENCHIE and MARC take this as a cue to exit the conversation, but CHAN stops them.

CHAN (CON'T): But, please, gentlemen, as a personal favor for me …

CHAN leanse in close to MARC.

CHAN (CON'T): Do enjoy yourselves.

MARC is visibly upset that this man is invading his personal space, but is doing his best to contain himself.

"MARC" (whispering): You are a sick man.

CHAN: What?

FRENCHIE pulls MARC away towards the bar.

CHAN walks over to one of his bodyguards and whispers in chinese.

CHAN (chinese): Keep an eye on those two.

Back to the duo.

FRENCHIE: MARC, you need to calm down.

MARC: I am calm.

FRENCHIE: Not if you're insulting the host.

MARC: … No I didn't.

FRENCHIE: Yes you did.

MARC: No I didn't.

FRENCHIE: Yes you did.

MARC: No I didn't.

FRENCHIE: Yes y— I'm going to start talking to people and I suggest you do the same.

FRENCHIE leans in close.

FRENCHIE: Don't forget why we're here.

MARC tries to calm himself, but he can't distance his mind away from the nature of what this place is, and the tension is building beneath his skin.

But then he spots something unexpected …

It's the Boys.

 **INT. CONDEMNED HOTEL – NIGHT — FLASHFORWARD**

MARC further smashes the security camera to bits, and on closer inspections, finds that the wires attached to it feed through a hole the ceiling.

MARC makes his way up to the next level and finds the hole and follows where the wires lead to. The trail ends under an apartment door, which MARC kicks in.

He finds a spindly man, sitting in front of several computer monitors, frantically typing on keyboards.

MARC smashes the keyboard, grabs the MAN by his ponytail, and throws him onto his cot.

MAN 2: Hey, hey, hey, hey, don't kill me. Don't kill me!

MARC notices the monitors, which display security feeds of different rooms in the complex, some of them still have children in them, and MARC realizes what this MAN was doing.

MAN 2: I JUST EDIT THE VIDEOS! I JUST ED-

MARC punches him, and then returns to smashing up his system units and keyboards.

While MARC is busy, the MAN reaches between his mattresses, pulls out a gun, and shoots MARC in the back.

MARC doubles over in pain, but manages to fling the railing rod at the MAN's head, the shock of which causes the MAN to fire a shot into the ceiling. MARC smacks the gun away, then grabs the MAN's arm and snaps it across the cot's metal frame. MARC then rips off some cords from the monitors and ties the man the cot-frame while he howls in pain.

MARC marches out of the room before slumping against the hallway wall. He undoes his vest and shirt and finds that the trajectory of the bullet only managed to wing him.

Luck.

Or was it?

Satisfied, MARC gets back to it.

Just as he rounds the corner, he's punched in the face.

 **INT. APARTMENT BUILDING – NIGHT – FLASHBACK**

MARC runs up to FRENCHIE and points to the Boys.

FRANCHIE: _Mon Dieu_.

They two confront the Boys.

MARC (whispering): What are you doing here?

RAY (points at RICKY): H-he talked me into it.

RICKY: Thanks, bro.

FRENCHIE: How'd you two even get here?

RICKY/RAY: . . . Craigslist.

MARC/FRENCHIE: _What_?

RAY: We looked at a few "ads," messaged some people, and we got an invite to this place.

MARC: . . . It was _that_ easy?

RICKY/RAY: Yeah.

MARC shakes his head in disbelief.

MARC: Doesn't matter, you should've told me.

RICKY: You would've said "no," and Scarlet is _our_ friend. We want to help.

Before the argument can go any further, FRENCHIE notices CHAN's bodyguards looking at the four suspiciously.

FRENCHIE: What's done is done, but we cannot be seen together like this.

MARC shakes his head and huffs.

MARC: Agreed, but you two stay out of trouble. That's an order.

The Boys nod their heads, and MARC notices a drink in RICKY's hand, which he swipes.

MARC: Give me that, you're seventeen.

RICKY: Oh, come on, man.

MARC and FRENCHIE go back to mingling, when MARC suddenly hears muffled yelling from the deeper in the apartment. Out from one of the rooms pops a young asian woman who is being savagely beaten by a large, burly man.

None of the other patrons seem to care beyond a cursory glance, but MARC is visibly shocked.

And he begins to clench his fist.

MARC (whispering): … "Don't let them see you cry." … "Don't let them see you cry." …

 **INT. CONDEMNED HOTEL – NIGHT — FLASHFORWARD**

Just as he rounds the corner, MARC is punched in the face.

Reeling from an attack he didn't see coming, he stumbles as his vision refocuses on his new opponent.

It's immediately obvious to MARC that this man's a steroid user.

Before MARC can get back on his feet, the JUICER picks him up like a sack on laundry and chucks him into an empty glass case. The JUICER then kicks MARC in the side and grabs him by the back of the head.

The JUICER grabs MARC and begins to crush him in a bear hug. However MARC manages to wriggle one of his arms free and stab the JUICER in the left pectoral with a shard of glass he grabbed.

Shocked, the JUICER drops MARC to the floor, which allows him to swipe up a handful of glass shards and smear it into the JUICER's face. He gets up and starts going for quick body jabs. Unfortunately, MARC is still dazed, so the JUICER gets in a good hit which disorientates MARC further, but he refuses to let up.

Frustrated, the JUICER fights harder, but the combination of his rage and MARC's jabs causes him to over-exert himself and start snapping tendons and tearing muscles, which MARC takes advantage of. By the end of it, the JUICER has done more to hurt himself than his target, and MARC finishes him off by kicking his head against a wall so hard it imbeds itself into the drywall.

MARC walks off and discovers the room that JUICER came from has several women inside, with their legs and hands handcuffed to the bed-frames.

He breaks the frames and slips the handcuffs off.

MARC: Run.

They do.

He then marches up to the next level and meets another opponent: A well dressed black man, who pulls out two gold-plated combat knives.

 _[End of Act 2]_

 _[Act 3]_

 **INT. APARTMENT BUILDING – NIGHT – FLASHBACK**

FRENCHIE notices the woman being beaten and sees MARC staring daggers at the man.

FRENCHIE runs up to MARC who's still muttering to himself.

MARC (whispering): … "Don't let them see you cry." … "Don't let them see-"

FRENCHIE: _Mon amie_ , are you alright?

MARC just stares silently for a moment … before turning to FRENCHIE with a calm and sincere smile on his face.

MARC (as STEVEN): Of course, JEAN-PAUL. I'm fine.

Suddenly, the sound of a rigging bell fills the room. MR. CHAN steps up on a stool and addresses the room.

MR. CHAN: Gentlemen, gentlemen, it's that time of the night.

CHAN's bodyguards then start handing out numbered auction paddles and setting up an ezle.

MR. CHAN: I hope you've enjoyed yourselves tonight, gentlemen, and how's 'about you enjoy yourselves a little more by indulging in a "souvenir?" We've got a wide selection today - Snow Whites, Auroras, and Ariels. . .

MR. CHAN places photos of a girl with black hair, a girl with blonde hair, and a girl with red hair respectfully.

MR. CHAN: Let's start the bidding at . . . $200.

As the bidding runs its course, FRENCHIE notices the woman being dragged back into the back by the burly man, but MARC apparently doesn't care anymore.

With the bidding over, MARC approaches MR. CHAN.

MARC: Excuse me, is that the … only "Ariel" that you have?

MR. CHAN: How do you mean, sir?

MARC: Well, you see … I'm particularly fond of redheads, but I was looking for something … more of the … "mint condition" variety.

MR. CHAN: Ooh, yes. I'm afraid we're sold out on that front today. Come back next week, might have better luck.

MARC: But-

MR. CHAN phone starts to ring.

MR. CHAN: I'm sorry I have to take this.

CHAN walks away with his bodyguards.

FRENCHIE walks up to MARC.

MARC: She's already been sold.

FRENCHIE: _Merde_. Well, what now?

MARC watches CHAN on the phone and thinks.

MARC (CON'T): (sigh) We're gonna have to jump him and force her buyer out of him.

FRENCHIE: The bodyguards will be a problem.

MARC (CON'T): I'm thinking, I'm thinking.

Back to CHAN, who's finishing up his phone call.

MR. CHAN: Yes, thank you for bringing this to my attention.

MR. CHAN hangs up and we see who the caller was … "BOWERMAN."

Back to MARC and FRENCHIE.

MARC: Okay, you take the Boys home, I'll try and tail him myself. When I find out where he lives-

FRENCHIE: MARC!

CHAN'S BODYGUARDS walk up to MARC and FRENCHIE.

BODYGUARD: Please come with us. Quietly.

Time seems to slow down, and the muscles in MARC's face twitch and flex. His eyes narrow as he clenches his fists.

FRENCHIE motions to try and diffuse the situation, but is interrupted by MARC uppercutting one of the bodyguards who goes completely limp and falls on a glass table, shattering it.

There's a beat as everyone makes sense of what just happened . . . and then it's just fists.

All the patrons start scrambling in different directions while FRENCHIE and MARC fight the bodyguards.

Meanwhile, RAY grabs RICKY and pulls him behind the bar.

Suddenly, RICKY has an idea.

He grabs one of the alcohol bottles and starts pouring it out.

RAY: What are you doing?

RICKY: I'm trying to help.

He then stands up and prepares to shatter the bottle onto the bar.

He gives it a few test swings to line up the shot and . . . the bottle bounces off the bar and collides with his forehead. Knocking him out.

As FRENCHIE grapples with one of the guards, the BURLY MAN from before wraps his arm around FRENCHIE's neck and puts him into a chokehold.

Before MARC can help him, the BURLY MAN suddenly has a bottle smashed across his head and he goes down like a ton of bricks.

The culprit? The asian woman the man was beating earlier.

FRENCHIE gives a nod of recognition towards the woman, but she is then knocked out of the way by MR. CHAN, who runs out of the apartment.

MARC - who is just finishing up his own guard - sees this.

MARC: HE'S GETTING AWAY!

FRENCHIE runs after him, while MARC jumps out the window and starts descending the fire-escape.

 **EXT. BACK ALLEY – NIGHT**

CHAN runs towards his car while trying to make a call on his phone, but is immediately tackled by MARC.

The tackle sends CHAN into the side of his car, which cracks the window.

CHAN: _GOU ZAI ZI_! I THINK YOU BROKE MY ARM!

MARC grabs CHAN by the collar.

MARC: WHERE IS SHE! THE GIRL - REDHEAD, VIRGIN - WHO'D YOU SELL HER TO?

CHAN laughs.

CHAN: _Xiao bai lian_ , I sold her already. She's gone. Nothing you can do.

MARC: You sure?

MARC shatters the cracked window with a punch, takes CHAN's hand, and starts pressing it into the insulating glass.

As CHAN screams in pain, "MARC" asks again.

"MARK": WHERE. IS. SHE?

FRENCHIE finally catches up (followed by the Boys and a pack of confused young women) and is visibly disturbed by the sight of MARC torturing this man.

CHAN: I - I SOLD HER TO THIS RICH CHRISTIAN GUY IN THE SOUTH! SHE'S IN A CONDEMNED BUILDING FOR THE NIGHT BEFORE WE SEND HER ON A PLANE IN A FEW HOURS! I CAN SHOW YOU WHERE!

MARC lets up.

CHAN collapses, cradling his hand.

CHAN: It doesn't matter. I already called them, they'll know something is wrong and they'll move her. You'll never get there in time.

MARC just gives FRENCHIE a determined look that could kill.

 **EXT. CONDEMNED HOTEL – NIGHT**

FRENCHIE pulls to a screeching halt in front of the building and MARC jumps out with a white balaclava in hand.

 **MONTAGE** : Everything that happened in the building flashes up until he meets the MAN WITH THE GOLDEN KNIVES.

 **INT. CONDEMNED HOTEL – NIGHT**

MARC and the KNIFE MAN are at the tail-end of their fight, both bloodied, with MARC using his tie to tie the KNIFE MAN's arms.

Finally, MARC manages to wrap the tie around KNIFE MAN's hand a kick away the knife, wrap the tie around KM's neck, and then charge the both of them into a door at the end of the hall.

The door breaks off its hinges, and the KNIFE MAN is down for the count.

MARC, exhausted, forces himself up and proceeded up a small flight of stairs.

MARC: Top floor.

A random thug tries to take a swing at MARC with a baseball bat, but MARC easily dispatches him and takes the bat.

 **INT. CONDEMNED HOTEL – FINAL ROOM**

MARC kicks in the door and finally sees SCARLET who's tied up and has a gun pointed at her head by a clearly frightened man.

MAN: Don- don't come any closer, man. I - I - I swear, I'll blow this bitches' brains all over this room.

"MARC": . . . So?

MAN: What?

"MARC" (CON'T): The family already thinks she is dead. They have mourned. You kill her, nothing changes. But I will still be here … and I will be _angry_. You let her go, and I promise you'll walk out of here.

MARC and the MAN lock eyes . . . and the MAN caves.

MARC walks over and swings the bat into the MAN's face.

MARC: _**Scum**_.

MARC un-ties SCARLET.

"MARC": Do not worry, I am getting you out of here.

SCARLET: . . . There's blood on your face.

"MARC": It is a mask.

SCARLET: No. . .

SCARLET reaches out and touches the blood-stained balaclava.

SCARLET (CON'T): It's _your_ face.

"MARC": . . . Smart kid.

MARC picks her up and walks out.

Panning over to a window covered in newspapers, a bit of it peels away to show a waxing crescent moon.

 _[End of Act 3]_

 _[End of Episode]_

 _Author's Note: For those concerned, no, I am not going to stop updating this due to the announcement of an actual_ Moon Knight _tv show. In fact, I'm actually excited to what directions the show will take vs where I would go. I've planned out a whole season and I intend to force that out of myself one way or another, but I can't promise scheduled updates. If worse comes to worse, I could always just post the series bible I made so you all know what would've happened. I don't plan on disappearing._


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